


anything can happen.

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 02:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. liam takes philosophy. he gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anything can happen.

**Author's Note:**

> so one afternoon, [emma](http://clemmingsy.tumblr.com/) and i were talking about this fic and i thought to myself, "hey. lets write a porn without plot. it'll be fun." i blame her for this entire thing.
> 
> end result: a 9k monster that's now here on ao3. so, enjoy!
> 
> big thanks to kiwi, amber and blake for reading this over for me because i'm a big baby when it comes to editing. also this is for [leighanne](http://infernalserpent.tumblr.com/), to cheer her up. 
> 
> if you read this, thank you!

Eight in the morning is, quite possibly, a bit excessive for a philosophy class three days a week.

And yet, Liam finds himself getting out of bed at six thirty in the morning on Monday, changing into clothes; shivering against the floor of his room. His keys are left by the front door, reaching to get a coat before he goes so as to have some way to combat the seemingly always cold, London air in the wintertime.

His car is buried under a miniature mountain of snow, Liam cursing under his breath as he gets the brush from underneath the front seat, mits on his hands as he starts to wipe snow off the front windshield. 

He can tell Louis borrowed his car last night when he finally gets into the driver’s seat, spotting a bag of take out and empty to-go cup in his cupholder as he sighs, tiredly. 

The sky’s dark, apparently meaning it’s going to snow some more this afternoon, as the radio so helpfully tells Liam as he begins his early morning commute. It’s only a twenty minute drive, but it somehow feels longer, especially when Liam’s had no coffee and only a half piece of toast to show for his morning so far.

Denny’s, the schools coffee shop, is open by the time Liam gets there — taking out his bag and starting toward the building. There’s hardly anyone around, save for a few other students scattered in the lobby as he orders himself a coffee, black, and dark — with an extra shot of espresso, if they could, as the girl gives him a small smile.

“Morning class?” she asks, handing his drink over to Liam, along with his ordered raisin bran muffin.

“Yeah,” Liam says, accepting the cup and paper bag, “philosophy.”

The girl nods in sympathy. “With who?” she asks.

“Styles? I haven’t heard of him, though, so. We’ll see how he is,” Liam says, shrugging.

“Styles?” the girl repeats, and Liam nods. “He’s great. Makes philosophy very… easy to listen to. You know?”

Liam doesn’t know. He’s confused, actually, as to why the girl is making this face at him, like he should get the hint, or something. But he doesn’t get it, clearly, as he presses his lips together in his confusion.

“Right, well. We’ll see how it goes, then,” he says, giving her one last thank you before he goes off down the hallway. 

He’s got about fifteen minutes till his class, sitting on one of the small couches outside his classroom door. The coffee’s hot, welcomed in the still slightly cold air, and he takes his muffin out — picking some off the top of it.

“Didn’t know people actually ordered raisin bran muffins.”

Liam jumps, not seeing anyone there as he turns, seeing someone a little off to the side. He’s smiling, a little, an amused look on their face when he sees the panicked look on Liam’s face.

“I’m — what?” Liam asks, running a hand through his hair.

“I always thought it was like, a myth. You know?” he continues. Liam swallows, taking a moment to realize they’re wearing a pair of faded corduroy’s. “They make those muffins every morning, but no one really orders them. They’re always just — there.”

He’s attractive, is the second thing Liam notices, watching as he takes a step toward where Liam’s sitting now. With dark hair, slicked back — donning a sweater vest that’s tucked neatly into his pants, along with some dark rimmed glasses pushed back onto his nose. He’s not the type Liam normally goes for, but. Liam’s mouth has suddenly gone dry, watching as he comes to sit beside him.

“I like them,” Liam protests, weakly, holding up his picked at muffin.

He nods, taking a piece, and eating it. Liam waits, though what he’s waiting for, he’s not really all that sure. 

“You know they’re not like — the worst,” he says finally, thoughtfully.

Liam blinks. “Well that’s something, at least,” he says.

He smiles — and Liam’s sure he can feel his cheeks heating up as he looks down at his lap, and his muffin.

“Yes, well, it’s nice to meet you…” he trails off, glancing to Liam once more.

“Erm, I’m Liam,” he says.

“Hi, Liam,” he says, still smiling. “Are you in this next class?”

Liam nods. He stands once more, briefcase in hand, walking back to the door. “I’ll see you in there then, Liam,” he says without so much but another word, going into the classroom and turning on the lights and, oh, shit.

It seems Liam’s just met Professor Styles, of all people.

 

 

“So you hit on him, then?”

“I didn’t — hit on him,” Liam groans. “I just gave him a piece of my muffin, that’s _it_.”

Louis makes an amused sound where he’s standing at the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. “Like, an actual muffin, or is this some kind of euphemism —”

“Oh my God, no, like an actual, real, muffin,” Liam stops him before he can finish his sentence. 

“I’m a little disappointed, if I’m honest,” Louis says, pinching Liam’s cheek before he pushes his hand away.

“Yes, well, I’m ignoring you now,” Liam says, kicking at Louis’ foot in an attempt to get him to leave. 

“Just, tell me one thing,” Louis says, taking one of Liam’s chips before he takes a step back. “Would you want to?”

Liam looks over at Louis, confused. “Would I want to… what,” he asks.

“You know…” Louis trails off, but Liam still isn’t getting whatever it is Louis is trying to get at. “Would you — let him put his muffin in you?”

“Jesus — are you serious, Lou?” Liam snaps.

“Just answer me, c’mon Liam,” Louis presses, lips pulled up into a grin. “Whatever we say in this kitchen, stays in this kitchen.”

“I don’t want to answer that. I’m not going to answer that,” Liam says, turning back to his food.

“Well I mean, if it helps, I would totally let one of my old Professors stick his muffin in me. That James guy? Greg?” Louis continues.

Liam leans forward, putting his forehead against the counter as he lifts his head, then lets it fall once, twice, three times as he lets out a long, extended sigh.

“Don’t you have stuff to do?” Liam asks, and Louis laughs, the sound loud and delighted. “Go do it, please. Leave me alone. I’m begging you.”

“You just have to answer the question, and I’ll be gone. It’s as simple as that,” Louis says, and when Liam looks over at him he’s in the doorway again, hands folded neatly in front of himself.

He curses under his breath, rubbing a hand along his face in only mild exaggeration, before he finally opens his eyes once more.

“Fine.” Liam says curtly. “I would let Professor Styles have his way with me. There, are you happy? Can I go now?”

“I suppose that’s answer enough,” Louis says, shrugging. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” he adds, winking at Liam before walking off to his bedroom, the door closing behind him and leaving Liam standing in his kitchen, dinner at hand, feeling weirdly guilty about muffins.

 

 

The thing is. The thing _is_ , is that Liam would never actually admit he’s attending every single one of his lectures for Professor Styles and the sake of, you know, seeing him.

What he will admit, is that he’s enjoying philosophy. He’s very glad he decided last minute to take the course on a whim, because mostly every other one was full. It’s interesting, and he’s learning a lot — even if it is at eight in the fucking morning.

It’s just that, he _is_ attractive. But Liam doesn’t let himself think on it too long, not when he should be focusing on their topic at hand today — if Plato was right, or if he was mildly insane. Honestly, Liam has no idea which of the two it is, but he reckons Harry’s going to get to the bottom of it, eventually.

Or, Professor Styles, Liam corrects himself mentally. Not Harry. Never Harry. 

He gets a text from Louis. _hooooow’s your boyfriend ;)_

Liam shifts in his seat, glaring at his screen. He keeps his phone lowered onto his lap, and since he’s somewhere near the back of this slightly over crowded room he assumes he won’t be spotted as he types out a response.

 _Not myyyy boyfriend Fuck off pleeeease_ he sends back.

_dunno about that. heard a rumour you’d let professor styles have his way with you and his muffin. do you deny this, payno?_

He’s going to kill Louis. _What hapened to Wht we say in the kitchen stays in teh kitchennn??!? !?!?! !??_

They’ve got about five minutes left, and Professor Styles is trying to get his last few points of his lecture in — talking a little fast than normal as Liam tries to get down the notes best he can.

“Now, if you all will be so kind as to wait a few minutes after class —” there’s a collective groan from the class, and Harry makes a face where he’s standing at the front. “As I was _saying_ ,” he says, rather impatient now, “I’d like you all to come and collect your quizzes you took last week, just to see where your grades are at in the semester. After that, you’re free to go, alright?”

Liam waits, a few of the people leaving without bothering to get their quizzes. Since he’d been in the back he’s near the back of the line, only a handful of people behind him as he shuffles through. 

It’s so ridiculous, because this a first year course and he’s in fourth year. He’s only taking this to fill his credits, really, so if he fails this he’s sort of screwing himself over for graduation. Not that he thinks he failed his quiz, necessarily, but he’s pretty sure he might’ve borderline failed it.

Harry takes a few moments with each student, handing them the quiz and saying something to them in a hushed voice.

And, soon enough, it’s Liam’s turn.

“Ah, Liam,” Harry greets, smiling at him. He goes through the stack of quizzes in front of him, pausing, as he lifts the paper, frowning only a little as he glances to it.

“That doesn’t look good,” Liam says, if only slightly nervous now.

“It’s just — you know, there’s room for improvement,” Harry says, giving it to him. Liam grimaces, when he sees his grade. Two points away from failing, apparently. “But we’ve got what, six more quizzes this term? You can bring it up.”

Liam nods, not sure if he fully believes Harry, but. The sentiment is nice, at least, he thinks — pulling his bag up over his shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, holding up the paper. “Thanks, Professor Styles.”

“See you Monday, Liam,” Harry says, nodding to him as Liam goes, cheeks burning and the paper feeling like it’s burning a hole in his bag the entire way home.

 

Turns out, Liam’s rubbish at philosophy. And no account of Harry’s interesting lectures is going to change that, apparently.

There’s only two weeks left in the semester, and Liam’s grades are _not_ improving. In fact, they’re getting worse, he thinks, looking over his quizzes over the past few weeks. He’s in his room, the lamp on and his head pounding where he’s sitting at his desk.

He’s just getting over a cold; blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a box of tissues in his lap. It’s Louis’ fault he’s sick, having brought home a cold and passed it onto Liam, much to his dismay.

And, deciding that he doesn’t particularly want to fail out of philosophy, he opens up a new email.

_Good evening Professor Styles,_

_I’ve been looking over my grades on these quizzes the past few weeks, and noticed they’re all rather low._

_I was thinking if, possibly, since there’s only two weeks left of the term before it’s finished, there was something I could do to make up for all the grades lost? I’m in fourth year and if I don’t pass this course I’ll have to take it over next year, which I would rather not do._

_Thanks,_

_Liam Payne._

He sends it without a second thought, not even bothering to look it over as he leans his head back. His head is still stuffed, congested and feeling miserable as he takes a sip of his tea to try and combat the pounding in his head.

 

And, when Liam checks his email a few hours later, he’s got a new message.

“Louis?” Liam calls, gripping the edge of his desk rather tightly.

“What is it, I’m about to beat this round of Fifa,” comes Louis’ response a few moments later.

“I um — emailed Professor Styles,” Liam says, swallowing.

“Yes, well, what was it — nudes? A picture of your muffin on display tastefully?” Louis asks.

“No, what, _God_ — it was for extra credit,” Liam says. 

“Again, I ask: was it nudes?” is Louis’ response.

“He emailed me back, you twat, and I’m scared to read it.”

He hears the sound of a controller dropping onto the ground, Louis walking through his door a few moments later. “Open it, then,” he says, motioning to Liam’s computer screen.

And, Liam does.

 _Good evening, Liam Payne, it’s great to hear from you!_ is what the first line reads.

“Bet he doesn’t say that to all his students,” Louis muses. Liam reaches up, twisting his nipple, as Louis makes a sound — slapping his head. 

“Just keep reading,” Liam instructs, and so Louis does, continuing to scroll down.

_As for your quiz marks, I’m sorry that this semester isn’t going as well as you thought it would._

_However, I think something extra credit would do perfectly. How’s about you write me a paper? On a philosopher, whatever topic you want, 2,000 words, on my desk in a week’s time? That’s about the best I could come up with._

_Hope to hear from you soon,_

_Harry Styles._

“Hope to hear from you soon,” Louis repeats, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s a nice thing people say,” Liam says, reclaiming his computer back as Louis snorts in response.

“Or, you know, Professors who want to get into your pants,” Louis says. Liam throws a sock at him, as Louis rolls his eyes. “Also, what are you doing on Friday night?”

“Dunno. Probably working on this new paper I’ve somehow gotten myself signed up for, apparently,” Liam says, shrugging. “Why?”

“Niall wants to go out. And I’d said you’d come, so. Looks like you have plans,” Louis says, grinning, as he walks back out of Liam’s room, adding on a quick “and you can’t say no!” as Liam moans into his hands.

 

They go to Boomer’s, because it’s close, and also cheapest. Not that Liam’s complaining, sitting in a booth with Louis and Niall, the two of them talking over one another as he laughs, taking another sip of his beer.

“I’ve got to say,” Louis starts, an easy arm around Niall’s shoulders as he talks now. “This place isn’t the same as it was.”

“God,” Niall laughs, loudly, shaking his head. “You’re getting old there I think, Louis,” he says, pinching Louis’ cheek.

“Oi, fuck off,” Louis says, pushing his hand away. 

“Gonna have a story for the grandkids, I reckon,” Liam adds on.

“I hate you both,” Louis snaps, now glaring over at Liam pointedly.

Liam smirks, putting down his empty glass as he slowly stands. “I’m going to get another one — either of you want anything?” he asks.

“Aw, are you offering to pay, Payno? That’s so nice of you,” Louis says, tugging on Liam’s wrist.

“Wasn’t offering to _pay_ ,” Liam says, and Niall laughs once more. “Just offering to get you another one,” he says simply.

Louis scoffs, and Niall shakes his head, as Liam makes his way back toward the bar. It’s a bit crowded, as it always gets on the weekends — people shoved into nearly any spare space available, as Liam orders himself another beer. It comes a few moments later as he picks up the tall, cool glass — glancing down the bar, until.

He nearly drops his drink, eyes wide, as he freezes where he’s standing. Because there, just a handful of people away, is Professor Styles. 

Or like, who Liam _assumes_ to be Professor Styles. Because this man isn’t wearing the usual, faded corduroy pants. Instead, they’ve been replaced with a pair of very tight jeans, what looks to be a pair of Chelsea boots, and a button up shirt — though half the buttons aren’t done up. Instead they’re exposing a large part of his chest, which. 

Liam’s going to die, he’s pretty sure.

His hair isn’t slicked back either, Liam soon realizes in slight agony after a moment. It’s loose, and curly, and _long_ ; going a little past his neck. 

Oh, God, Liam thinks to himself. Now he’s really done himself in, hasn’t he?

He’s talking to someone Liam doesn’t recognize, with dark hair and wearing a leather jacket where they’re standing a little way’s off.

And, making sure he doesn’t spill any of his drink, Liam makes his way back to their booth. He’s out of breath by the time he gets there, climbing in and nearly taking out Louis as he does so, who eyes Liam curiously.

“Li, what the fuck — you’re gonna knee me in the fucking face,” Louis says, shoving Liam where he’s sitting. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Liam answers quickly, taking a long, extended drink.

Niall raises his eyebrows, now seemingly curious as he glances back over toward the bar. “What, did you see someone you know?” he asks.

“No,” Liam says. But he’s a shit liar. Always has been.

“Ooooh,” Louis sing-songs. “Who was it, then? That girl you hit on last year? Danielle?”

“No,” Liam repeats, more sharply this time.

“If you tell us who it is we’ll leave you alone,” Niall bargains, Louis nodding in agreement. 

It’s tempting, if only because Liam can still see Harry out of the corner of his eye — still at the bar and _still_ looking very attractive while doing so. “It’s just —” Liam starts, clearing his throat as he grips his glass tightly. “My Professor is here?”

“Oh my God,” Louis says, whipping his head around. “Which one is he? The muffin Professor?”

Niall makes a face. “Muffin —” he starts, but Louis shakes his head, cutting him off.

“We’ll explain later, Horan. Right now this is important,” Louis says. “Liam which one _is he_.”

Liam makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, feebly pointing with one finger as best he can.

“He’s the one — with the shirt, unbuttoned. Beside the guy in the leather jacket,” Liam says, slowly, keeping his voice low. “No don’t point Louis he’s going to see you for Christ’s _sake_ —” 

“Shit,” Louis hisses. “Liam, are you serious? He’s fucking hot.”

“Now I know why you go to class every week,” Niall chimes in.

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who joined the sound crew just so you could fuck Bressie,” Louis says, hitting Niall off the back of his head.

“Listen,” Niall starts, immediately defensive. “It’s not my fault Bressie happens to be the head of the sound crew.”

“Also the one who happens to be giving you head,” Louis says, soliciting a smack from Niall on the arm in response. Louis snorts, loudly, but doesn’t say anything on the subject of Bressie as he instead turns back to Liam. “Go talk to him,” he urges, tugging on Liam's arm.

Liam shakes his head. “Never in a million years,” he says. “What would I say? Oh, hey Professor Styles, fancy seeing you here. On your day off. Nice — chest.”

“Yes, well, we can work on your opening line,” Louis says, patting Liam’s arm for a few moments; like it’s supposed to be comforting. Which it isn’t. “Because it would be a waste, letting a hot professor go like that without even at least _trying_ to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t look like that during the week,” Liam says, whining into his hands. “Why does he have to look like this _now_?”

“To torture you until you rip his clothes off him. Obviously.” Louis responds, clearly not on the same trail of desperation as Liam is. “So, go. C’mon. How bad could it be?”

“Pretty bad,” Niall says. Louis flicks his ear.

“Not helping, Horan,” Louis says sternly.

“Okay,” Liam starts, slowly. “ _If_ , I talk to him. Will you leave me alone? And never talk about this again?”

Louis nods, doing a small cross over his heart. “Promise.”

Liam takes in a deep breath. “Alright. If you come with we can — go. Talk to him. Maybe. If I don’t throw up first.”

“Don’t do that,” Niall advises. “Just go get him, Payno, c’mon.”

And, with nothing to lose, Liam pushes himself up from the booth, making his way across the floor. Louis goes to get a drink, still lingering around Liam as he approaches Harry, slowly.

It’s a moment until Harry actually sees him, turning when his friend nods behind him — seeing Liam before Harry did, where he’s got his back to Liam now. 

He looks at Liam for a moment, until Harry seems to recognize him, eyes widening as he lets his eyes go over Liam’s face, slowly.

“Heyyyyyy Liam,” Harry starts, smiling widely. He might be a bit drunk, Liam thinks, watching him. “You’re in my class.”

“Um — yes, I am,” Liam replies. “Just thought I’d say, or something, I don’t know, I should go —”

“No, no,” Harry says, briefly gripping Liam’s wrist. “You can meet my friend, Zayn. Zayn, this is one of my students, Liam.”

“Hi, Liam,” Zayn says, smiling, only looking the tiniest bit amused. “Nice to meet you.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, eyeing Liam’s glass of beer. “Are you even old enough to like, have that?”

“I’m old enough,” Liam defends, hearing Harry laugh quietly in response. “Just — waited a few years before I went to college, I guess.”

Harry nods, still grinning, and Liam’s sure his face is flushing by now. “I wish I saw more of you, like. Look at you,” Harry says, fingers still wrapped around Liam’s wrist, lightly. 

“I um — thank you,” Liam manages to stammer out, somewhat awkwardly, as he takes in a deep breath.

“Do you like philosophy at all, Liam?” Harry asks, apparently very curious. “Because I like philosophy. And you. I like you. Or I think I do, anyway. From what little I know of you.”

Liam’s eyes widen, and he’s almost sure he’s imagining this, on the brink of passing out, until —

“Hey, you know? Liam loves philosophy. Doesn’t shut up about it half the time,” comes Louis’ voice and oh, God, things are going to go from bad to worse. “I’m Louis. Liam’s flatmate.”

“Hi, Louis,” Harry says, shaking his hand briefly.

“Louis is just shutting up, and we’re just leaving, actually —” Liam starts, but Louis cuts him off.

“No, really, he talks about your class and this guy, with the slicked back hair. Do you know who he is?” Louis continues, because he hates Liam, apparently.

Liam’s going to set himself on fire with the way Harry’s grinning delightedly in response. Harry cocks his head to one side, clearly intrigued now. “Oh, is that so?” he asks.

“You know, we really should go. I have — stuff, to do, so I’ll see you in class —”

“Nooo _oo_ ,” Harry says, now frowning. “Liam, tell me more about this guy.”

“Louis. Don’t tell him,” Liam says firmly.

“Well, you know, since you asked…” Louis starts, and Liam’s going to rip his own face off at the mere fact that this conversation is actually _happening_ , right now. “He practically waxes poetic about each of your classes every night he comes home, you know.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That sounds very interesting,” he says.

“It’s not, I assure you,” Liam promises, now practically dragging Louis away. 

“Right, well — it was nice seeing you, Liam,” Harry tells him, so sincere that it makes Liam’s chest ache, just a little. “I look forward to reading your paper.”

“Yeah — you too, Harry,” Liam says, nearly smacking himself in the face as soon as he says it. 

“Smooth,” is the first thing Louis says, stifling a laugh against his hand. “Very smooth, Payne.”

“Shut up,” Liam snaps, “stop talking so I can go bury myself in a hole somewhere.”

“Not going to let that happen,” Louis says, looking back at Niall as they collect their things.

“Why not,” Liam deadpans.

“Because,” Louis says simply, tilting Liam’s chin up. “ _You_ didn’t see the way your young, hot, Professor was looking at you.”

“What are you —” 

“He was checking you out,” Niall so helpfully interjects, following them outside. “I could see from where I was sitting, so like. He wasn’t being subtle, mate.”

Liam ignores them, instead walking up the street and back to his flat. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“You know, if you’re not going to make the moves on Harry you could, like, get his friends number for me —” Niall starts, Louis making a sound of protest as he pulls Niall into a headlock.

“You have myself and Bressie, Horan. What more could you want?” Louis asks, digging his knuckles into Niall’s head as he yells, Liam laughing as they carry off walking.

 

Monday morning, Liam gets a somewhat humourous email, checking it just before class starts.

_Good morning, Liam._

_I’m not going to be in class today. My friend Zayn, who you met this weekend, will be teaching for me as I’m — unsuited to be in a classroom, right now._

_However, I have not forgotten your paper. If you’d like you can stop by my flat and drop it off this afternoon, if you want?_

_If not that’s fine, I just thought I’d get ahead and mark it before the weekend was out and add it to your grades before the final exam next week._

_Cheers,  
Harry Styles._

And, sure enough, in walks Zayn about a minute later — looking still, somehow, like he’s just walked off a fucking runway show, or something, Liam thinks with only a little bit of jealousy. 

_Hello, Professor Harry._

_I can be there a little after four, if that works for you._

_Liam Payne._

He gets a response from Harry with his address sometime after eleven, and Liam’s nervous about it for approximately the rest of the day. 

He pretends not to be, of course, coming home and getting a quick cup of coffee — Louis has work till six so he leaves a note on the fridge saying he’ll be back later, don’t wait up, love you, and all those other important things before he’s out the door a little before four.

Harry doesn’t live far from him, actually, just a few blocks over as Liam pulls up in front of his house. Or, flat, Liam corrects himself as he gets out — paper in hand as he makes his way toward the door. 

He knocks once, deciding that’s enough for now as he steps back, waiting. He’s nervous, sure. Feeling like he’s on the verge of throwing up, maybe, when the door finally opens and he’s got no way to back out now.

“Liam,” Harry greets, smile wide as he opens the door. “Come in, come in.”

He’s wearing a Green Bay Packers beanie, of all things — curls tucked away under it, along with an overly large black hoodie and the same, teasing and notoriously tight jeans, Liam thinks as he steps in slowly. 

“It’s um, a bit of a mess. Zayn has a bad habit of leaving his things all over,” Harry says, walking down the hallway and motioning to another room. “The living room’s mostly clean, though, so you’re safe here.”

Liam smiles, a little, going to sit on one of the couches as he watches Harry sit beside him now. “So I have — this,” Liam says, handing over the paper. “And I should, you know, go, as well.”

He says he should go, but doesn’t make any attempts to do so, as Harry takes his paper — setting it carefully onto the small table in front of them. “I was going to have some dinner, if you wanna join me?” Harry pauses, though, looking at Liam. “Unless that’s like, weird. Then you can go, by all means.”

Liam pauses, considering. He should, probably, say no. But something inside of him, a very loud something, is yelling at him to please, please, _please_ stay.

“I mean. I am a little hungry,” Liam starts, and Harry practically beams at him when he says it.

“It’s just some chicken, stuff, I made — and pasta. Nothing really special,” Harry says, standing as he walks into the assumed kitchen next to the living room.

“You’re really selling this meal here,” Liam deadpans, and Harry laughs in response.

“I could just spit in it, you know,” Harry threatens, now returning with two plates and two glasses filled with water.

“Wouldn’t phase me,” Liam says, picking up his fork.

Harry gives him a look; a mildly disgusted, partly amused one where he’s sitting now as he takes a bite of his own dinner. “How was class today? Did Zayn fill my shoes okay?”

Liam nods. “Yeah, he was great,” he answers. “Got a few numbers after too, I think.”

Harry grins, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t surprise me, really. He spends half the time I do getting ready in the morning and still manages to look like he’s been plucked straight out of a Burberry ad.”

Liam hums in agreement, taking another bite of his food. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So,” Harry starts, wiping the corner of his mouth as he shifts, now facing Liam where he’s sitting on the couch. “Tell me about yourself, Liam Payne.”

Liam blinks, staring at Harry for a moment. “Well I mean — what do you want to know?”

“Any and all details you’re willing to share,” Harry says, like this is somehow meant to be blaring obvious to Liam, now. “What your first word was, what you’re studying, your least favourite pizza toppings — any and all things.”

Liam laughs, leaning back against the couch cushion as he takes a sip of his water, thinking briefly. “My first word was — pizza, according to my mom. But if you ask my dad he’d say it was his name, Geoff. I’m studying chemical engineering, and I hate olives on my pizza.”

Harry makes a face. “Olives are fantastic, Liam. I can’t believe you’d do this to me,” he says, putting a dramatic hand on his chest.

Liam rolls his eyes, pushing at Harry’s thigh. “Any other questions from other there, then?” he asks, taking another bite of his food.

“Well, you know. We’ve just dug under the first surface, if anything,” Harry says. “I’m an insanely curious person, Liam,” he adds, raising a somewhat challenging eyebrow. “Like, how someone who’s studying chemical engineering ended up in my first year philosophy course.”

Liam smiles, because he should’ve seen this coming, honestly.

“It’s not really all that exciting of a story,” Liam prefaces, but Harry’s quiet, listening where he’s nestled into the end of the couch. “I went, for a year — to uni, back where I grew up in Wolverhampton. But I didn’t like it so I dropped out, worked for two more years, and then decided to have a change of scenery. So I moved in with my friend Louis, and started going to his uni. Now I’m just one of those weird, older students nobody likes to talk to.”

Harry shakes his head, nudging his toes against Liam’s thigh. “Wouldn’t say that, Mr. Liam Payne,” he says, sipping his water. “But you’re in your last year, right? So after exams you’ll be — done?”

Liam nods. “That’s the plan, anyway,” he says, shrugging. “My friend Louis is a teacher, so he’s out working every day and I’m just sort of there, doing my homework,” he adds.

“Homework is fun though,” Harry argues and Liam laughs, quietly.

“Aside from that there isn’t much, though,” Liam says. “Soon enough I’ll be Liam Payne, twenty-two years old, with a chemical engineering degree and not having any sort of clue what he’s going to do with it.”

Harry gives him a small, sympathetic sort of smile but Liam just shrugs, wordlessly in response.

“You don’t — have to know what you’re doing right away, you know,” Harry tells him slowly.

“I know,” Liam says, looking down at the glass in his hands. “I know. It’s just — I feel like I’m letting everyone down, you know?”

He doesn’t look up, doesn’t know if he could take seeing Harry’s gaze on him anymore as Liam exhales, slowly. It’s a few moments until he feels a finger under his chin — careful and gentle, as Liam finally tilts his gaze to look up at Harry as he presses his thumb against Liam’s lower lip.

“You’re gonna figure it out,” Harry says.

Liam nods, not sure he has any words left anymore as he swallows, hard. Because Harry’s there, Harry’s _right there_ and Liam’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next, so he waits.

It’s about half a minute before they start moving at once — Liam’s mouth colliding with Harry’s and there’s some teeth and tongue and it’s all a bit of a mess, really, as he hears Harry laughing.

“Oh, God,” Harry says as they pull apart, “that was so uncoordinated, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Liam says, face flushed as he feels Harry press his forehead against Liam’s shoulder. “I think you bit a chunk out of my face but, aside from that, I’m fine.”

Harry makes a quiet, almost embarrassed sound, as Liam tugs at one of the curls around his ear gently. “We could try it again, if you wanted like — less biting and more kissing,” Liam suggests.

It’s a moment before Harry lifts his head, looking at Liam — as if trying to figure out something, somehow. He seems to find whatever he’s looking for, however, as he leans forward once more, and kisses Liam properly.

His lips are warm, and soft, is the first thing Liam registers. The second is that he can feel Harry’s hand cupping his jaw — his thumb pressing into Liam’s jawline as he sighs into Harry’s mouth.

Harry presses back, Liam’s lips sliding against his as he puts a hand on Harry’s waist to try and steady himself where the world is slightly spinning, now.

But then Harry’s got his tongue running along Liam’s lower lip and oh, God, okay, Liam thinks as he inhales sharply through his nose. He parts his lips easily, Harry licking into his mouth almost immediately when he does — his hand now moving from Liam’s jawline to cradle the back of his neck now.

It’s a slow kiss, the kind that makes you feel weak all over and craving more, more, more, which is exactly how Liam’s feeling right now.

Except. Except — he reminds himself, Harry is his Professor.

“Shit,” Liam says, pulling away, a smacking sound coming as their lips come apart. “You’re going to like, get fired for that, aren’t you?”

Harry pauses, momentarily, as he shifts. “Well — okay, yes, that’s true,” he starts. “But I’m not — going back to that school? After this semester? I was just covering for the usual Professor who’s on maternity leave, I actually am starting a new job soon —” 

“Alright,” Liam says, unable to stop himself from staring at Harry’s rather red lips, feeling a small sense of pride as he does. “As much as I liked — kissing you,” he starts, “because I did, I liked that —”

“Which is good,” Harry says, and Liam nods in agreement.

“We should, maybe. Do it later. Like — when I’m done exams and you’re no longer my professor, later.”

Harry pauses. “So like — in a week?” he supplies.

“Yes,” Liam says. “One week.”

Harry groans, loudly, shaking his head in silent protest. “Don’t know if I can wait a week,” he whines, gently gripping the fabric of Liam’s jumper. 

“You’re going to have to,” Liam says, half firm, half trying not to smile as he pokes at the dimple now pressed into Harry’s cheek.

Harry pouts, before he reaches out and takes Liam’s hand into his own. They’re still warm, still soft, as he intertwines their fingers slowly.

“What about this, then. Can we do that?” Harry asks him, eyebrows raised.

Liam nods, leaning his forehead against Harry’s as he traces his thumb along Harry’s palm, slowly.

“Yes, we can do this,” he says quietly, and Harry smiles.

They can do a lot of things, Liam thinks to himself. They just have to wait a week.

 

He _just_ passes philosophy. But, it’s a pass. Which means he can graduate, which is the most important thing, out of all this.

“You almost failed,” is the first thing Louis says when he looks at Liam’s final grades. “If one lousy little make out session won't even get you a higher grade than what’s the point, really.”

Liam rolls his eyes, flicking Louis’ arm as he goes to sit on one of the couches in the living room.

“Did you get his hot friends number for me yet?” Niall asks, feet propped up on their table in the living room as Liam shakes his head.

“You’re dating someone, if you remember,” Liam points out. 

Niall frowns, taking a bite of Louis’ slice of pizza. “Yeah, but. Once Bressie sees him, he’ll understand, I reckon.”

Liam smirks, rolling his eyes as he leans back against his chair.

He checks his phone, seeing a text that lights up screen. _Sooooo. I’m making some dinner tomorrow night. Think you’d maybe wanna stop by? .xx_

He has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from grinning too noticeably where Louis and Niall are sitting on the couch, walking a movie.

 _I thinkkkkk i can stop by :) Mayb bring some beerrrr?_ he sends back.

 _I like beer._ he gets in response.

 _Cyaaaa tomorrw night_

_Come by around 7. I’ll see you then :)_

And if he’s got butterflies in his stomach, so be it. 

 

“Hi,” Harry says, just a few moments after Liam’s knocked on the door. “I’ve had a bit of a run-in with our oven, but I’ve dealt with it — I think, so dinner shouldn’t be more than a few minutes late.”

“That’s fine,” Liam assures him, shrugging off his coat as Harry takes it, hanging it up on one of the hooks near the door.

He’s rambling, but Liam doesn’t mind, because if anything it means that Harry’s as nervous as he is, which is a comforting thought. So he toes off his shoes, putting them by a small pile near the door as he walks down the hallway, and toward the kitchen.

Harry’s wearing the same tight jeans, along with a long sleeved white top — one where Liam can see the tattoos marked across Harry’s skin as he licks his lower lip, telling himself to breathe.

Harry’s bent over some sort of pan, mixing the contents as he looks over at Liam, smiling widely. “Brought the beer, did you?” he asks, eyeing the paper bag in Liam’s hands.

“I didn’t — know what kind you liked, so I just got the usual,” Liam says, putting the bag down onto the small island near the stove.

“I like the usual, whatever it is,” Harry tells him, nodding.

Liam’s got his hands at his side, watching as Harry adds something else to the pan, making a soft, clicking sound with his tongue before he speaks again.

“How’s it feel to be done, then? We’ve got ourselves a new college graduate in the room. Very exciting,” he starts, turning to face Liam now, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Don’t feel that different, if I’m honest,” Liam admits, shrugging. Harry watches as Liam takes a step toward him, slowly. “Just — done school. Which is a nice thought.”

Harry smiles, a little, as he moves to put his wooden spoon into whatever sauce he’s made now. “How do you feel about chicken cacciatore?” he asks.

Liam pauses, brows knitting together. “I’ve never had it before,” he says slowly as Harry holds up the spoon in front of him.

“Well, try it, then,” Harry says, motioning with his chin to the spoon.

He hesitates, for just a moment, before leaning in and taking the spoon into his mouth. It’s hot — warm against his tongue as Liam winces, briefly, before he swallows.

“It’s good,” Liam says, meaning it.

Harry makes a face. “Your wince suggests otherwise,” he says.

“It was just — warm,” Liam says, “hot.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows in this ridiculous fashion as Liam rolls his eyes, motioning to the sauce. 

“You’re not allergic to any foods, are you?” Harry asks, turning to get out some bowls, moving to set them on the table.

“Not that I know of,” Liam replies, taking out the beer as he glances to Harry. “Do you have — glasses?” he asks, holding up the beer uselessly as he says it.

Harry laughs, quietly, nodding. “Yes, miraculously in this dump of a place, we do,” he says, handing Liam two. “You pour, I’ll set the table. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,” Liam says, getting the top of the bottle off as he does as he was instructed, Harry humming to himself as he moves from the kitchen to the small attached dining room.

There’s a small hallway leading off to where Liam assumes is the bedrooms, Harry putting the glasses onto the table as Liam leans against the counter.

He needs to get out of the mindset that he can’t have Harry, Liam thinks to himself where he’s standing. And that’s when Harry goes past him, mumbling something about checking the sauce — that Liam reaches out and grasps his hand, gently.

He tugs Harry closer to him, watching him as his brows furrow, watching Liam curiously. “C’mere,” Liam says, quietly.

And Harry does.

Liam leans forward, capturing Harry’s lower lip between his own as he hears Harry inhale sharply in response, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he curls a hand around Liam’s waist, smiling against Liam’s lips and kissing him — a press of the lips and Liam moans in response, can’t help himself. 

Harry doesn’t seem to mind as he slots one leg through Liam’s, pressing him up against the counter and Liam nearly whimpers in response at the contact, both their chests pressed up against one another as he feels the wisps of Harry’s curls brush his fingers where they’re cradling Harry’s neck.

“Like that?” Harry asks, grinning now as he runs his tongue along Liam’s lower lip — the feeling going straight to his dick as Liam inhales sharply.

“ _God_ ,” Liam breathes out, not even thinking about it as he tugs at one of Harry’s curls at the back of his neck.

“I have to — get dinner on the table,” Harry murmurs, pressing another kiss to the corner of Liam’s mouth. “But we can continue this after?”

Liam nods, feeling Harry’s hand grip once around his waist then pull back slowly. “After,” Liam confirms, still breathing heavily. “Yes, after is good I can deal with after.”

Harry presses a kiss to Liam’s upper lip, then his jaw line, before finally pulling back — walking over to the stove and turning off the element as he moves to bring the pot to the table. Liam takes the chicken from the oven, pot holders on his hands as he moves to put it beside the sauce, a salad bowl beside it.

“Well,” Harry says, clapping his hands together. “This is it, then.”

Liam smirks, shaking his head as they sit down at the table across one another.

 

Liam learns a lot about Harry, over dinner.

Like that he grew up in Holmes Chapel with his family, and worked at a bakery up until he was seventeen years old.

He also has an older sister, Gemma, who lives in London — doing work as a fashion consultant for a big company, apparently. Liam learns that Harry misses her very much, and will more often than not find an excuse to get on a train and visit her at any opportunity he can.

“She’s the one who told me to become a teacher,” Harry says as he stabs at one of the beans on his plate. “Never really thought about it before until then.”

Liam nods, watching as Harry looks over at him across the table. His heart does this weird sort of jump in his chest, like its banging loudly on his ribs. And if Harry can hear it, he doesn’t say anything — just keeps talking about his mom while wrapping an ankle around Liam’s under the table.

 

After dinner they move onto wine, Harry taking a carton of ice cream from the freezer and handing Liam one spoon, taking another for himself.

“Classy,” Liam comments, but Harry just grins up at him.

“I know you don’t hate it,” he says, and Liam doesn’t argue.

They go back into the living room, Liam sitting between Harry’s legs where he’s lying across the couch, ice cream on his chest as he takes a long, extended drink of his wine. It’s not that Liam has been staring, per say, but with each sip Harry takes his lips get a darker shade of red and it’s — well. It’s _distracting_ , to say the least.

“You know what, Liam Payne,” Harry says finally, when it’s dark outside and lamps are on — a few candles lit on the windowsill to set the mood, as Harry had said rather seriously. 

“What,” Liam asks where he’s got a gentle hand wrapped around Harry’s ankle, pressing an absent thumb into his skin lightly as he waits.

“I knew,” Harry starts, narrowing his eyes as he points his spoon at Liam now. “I knew the minute I saw you, that you were trouble.”

Liam laughs, quietly, tilting his head back against the couch to look over at Harry now. “Did you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Harry snorts, smiling, as he nods. “I did. And then you came to the bar that one night and I thought to myself that he really _is_ trouble, isn’t he?”

“It’s just because I wore blue that night,” is all Liam says, watching Harry give him a confused look in response. “Makes my eyes pop, you know.”

Harry laughs now, loudly, shaking his head in response. “I bet you tell that to all your old philosophy professors,” he says, wiggling an accusatory finger at Liam as he talks now.

“Nah,” Liam says. “Just the one’s I wanna get into their pants.”

Harry’s mouth drops open in response, letting out a low, surprised sound as Liam bites his lower lip — suppressing a laugh as best he can as Harry shakes his head. “Liam fucking Payne,” Harry says, dimples pressed into his cheeks. “You are quite the menace, aren’t you?”

Liam just shrugs, watching as Harry leans over to put the now half empty carton of ice cream onto the ground. It’s warm, mostly because the fireplace is on as he watches Harry sit up, slowly, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbows.

“I’m not the one buying ice cream from Tesco’s,” Liam says, and Harry leans toward him to bite down on his earlobe.

Liam lets out a sound in response, turning to reprimand Harry, possibly, but all that he finds is that he’s kissing Harry instead, which. Is a better outcome than the one he’d been thinking would happen.

“Hi,” Harry says, lips warm where they’re pressed against Liam’s.

Liam smiles, knows Harry can feel it where they’re sitting, practically grinning now. “Hi yourself,” he says, wrapping one of Harry’s curls around his finger.

But neither of them are in the mood for talking, apparently, as Harry shifts — both his knees on either side of Liam’s waist as he presses their chests together, Liam against the back of the couch now. And he feels warm all over — head hazy and all he can really think about is Harry, Harry, _Harry_. 

It’s messy; the two of them still no better and coordination but Liam doesn’t mind, pressing a hand into the small of Harry’s back to keep him steady now. Harry runs his tongue along Liam’s lower lip, like a silent question that Liam answers by parting his lips easily — Harry licking into his mouth almost straight away. 

Harry tastes like wine and tomato, like ice cream and something else — Liam thinks. Something he can’t quite put his finger on.

“You’re thinking too much,” Harry murmurs against his lips. “Why are you thinking so much, Liam Payne?”

Liam lets out a laugh, breathy and possibly a little desperate, his free hand gripping the fabric of Harry’s shirt. He knocks their foreheads together, eyes closed as he takes in a slow, deep breath. 

“It’s just —” Liam starts, pausing, as Harry brushes their noses together. 

“Just what,” Harry says, quietly, almost like a whisper.

“I really like you,” Liam says finally, tugging on the collar of Harry’s shirt.

Harry hums, pressing his lips to the corner of Liam’s mouth. “Good,” he says, like his minds already made up. “Because I really like you, Liam.”

Liam nods, pressing in and kissing Harry — no longer feeling all that up for talking. Harry doesn’t seem to mind, chest up against Liam’s again as he kisses him back.

This goes on for a while — until Liam’s head is dizzy and his upper lip is rough from where Harry’s been kissing him, his dick pretty hard against his thigh and he hopes and prays Harry can’t feel it where he’s still straddling Liam now.

Harry pauses, pressing a kiss to the side of Liam’s neck, his hand brushing against Liam’s dick through his jeans. Liam inhales sharply, tilting his head back as he tries to steady his breathing. But Harry just grins, palming Liam as he presses his lips to the shell of Liam’s ear gently.

“I have an idea,” Harry says, and Liam shivers in response.

“Gonna tell me or make me guess?” Liam asks, but it sounds more so like a whimper now from where he’s sitting.

Harry laughs, quietly, pressing his forehead against Liam’s temple gently. “Was thinking I’d suck you off, maybe. If — you know, you wanted,” he says finally, pressing his lips to the skin of Liam’s jawline.

“ _God_ ,” Liam breathes out, Harry’s hand still pressing against his dick and its sending a heat through his body that’s making it hard to have any coherent thoughts, right now. “Please,” he finishes, hoping this is enough of an answer for Harry.

It is, apparently, as Harry slowly shifts the two of them — Liam now on his back on the couch with Harry nestled between his legs, carefully tugging down Liam’s jeans as he does.

He presses his mouth to Liam’s dick through his boxers, and the heat from that alone is enough to get Liam’s hips to move up in response, not able to stop himself as he lets out something similar to a moan from his lips. 

But Harry doesn’t keep him waiting long, tugging Liam’s boxers down next — his hard cock slapping up against his stomach as Liam tries to fucking breathe. 

Harry puts a hand around the base of Liam’s cock, Liam tilting his head back to try and collect himself best he can — one of his hands gripping the cushion of the couch to steady himself, somehow. Harry presses a kiss to the inside of Liam’s thigh, moving upward until he wraps his lips around the tip of Liam’s dick — pressing his tongue into the slit and that’s enough to make Liam come right then and there. 

But he’s not finished yet, taking more of Liam in a few moments later. It’s all wet, hot, heat around Liam’s dick and he tries his best not to make a sound — biting into the back of his hand and trying to keep quiet. It’s here, however, Harry pulls off, looking up at Liam between his legs and it’s a sight Liam can get used to, if he’s honest.

“Don’t have to keep quiet, you know,” Harry says, lips trailing against Liam’s hip as he talks. “Zayn’s gone, so,” he adds, grinning as Liam lets out another moan in response.

But then Harry’s lips are back around his dick, taking nearly half of Liam in at once as Liam exhales, slowly, one of his hands going to tug on Harry’s hair in response. He watches, briefly, as Harry’s eyes roll into the back of his head in response — which Liam takes a good sign, he thinks, cataloguing it for a later time.

Harry hollows his cheeks, and Liam’s sure he’s seeing stars by the time he can take Liam fully a few minutes later, working himself up to it as he exhales through his nose, breath warm at the base of Liam’s dick. 

Liam racks his hands along Harry’s scalp, trying to be as gentle as he can — but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, one of his hands gripping Liam’s thigh gently where he’s doing this thing with his tongue and _Jesus Christ_ —

He comes with a small shout, hitting the back of Harry’s throat soon after. It’s a moment before Harry pulls off, wiping some come off the corner of his mouth and fuck, Liam might pass out at the sight of it as he pulls Harry toward him, kissing him.

“Are you always this impatient, Payne?” Harry teases, kissing him back as Liam comes back down, head a mess and heart racing in his chest.

He can taste himself on Harry’s tongue as he kisses him, the idea somehow strange and arousing at once, cradling the back of Harry’s head with one of his hands.

“Think it’s your turn next,” Liam says, watching as Harry raises a curious brow toward him.

Harry sits up, Liam not far behind him as they work on getting off his jeans, the line of his cock noticeable through his boxers as Liam presses a teasing hand against it.

“Don’t — tease,” Harry breathes out, cheeks flushed and lips parted as Liam kisses him in response.

Once his boxers are off Liam strokes him once, twice, Harry pressing his forehead against Liam’s shoulder — biting down lightly on the skin of Liam’s neck, letting out a moan when Liam slows down, teasing the head of Harry’s cock with his thumb.

“Should’ve known you’d torture me like this,” Harry says, and Liam can’t help but laugh as he runs his thumb along the slit, which shuts up Harry up rather effectively.

It’s not long till he comes in Liam’s fist, biting his shoulder and letting out a moan that vibrates against Liam’s skin and he’s sure could, possibly, get him hard again.

“Think I could use a shower…” Liam trails off, looking over where Harry’s smiling at him with a very loose, very relaxed, lopsided grin.

“You know,” Harry says, pressing his lips to Liam’s, “I like the way you think, Liam.”

“Not just for my body, then?” Liam asks, Harry biting down on his lower lip in response.

“Well, mostly for your body, if I’m honest,” Harry says, laughing as Liam pinches his bum. He lets out a sound of surprise, starting down the hall toward the bathroom, Liam following after him and wondering how he’d made it this far without a half naked Harry Styles in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblrrrrrr, come say [heyyyyyy](http://loueh.tumblr.com/)


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